My Dear Emma
by SakuraCherryBlossem
Summary: George Knightley is 17 and on his way home on spring term break and gets to meet the newest Woodhouse. A short story of how Mr.Knightley met his dear Emma. Now Continued! Various stories of our dear Emma and her Mr. Knightley.
1. My Dear Emma

My first ever Emma Fic, I don't have a beta nor do I I ever excel at proof reading, so I rely mostly on spell check and grammar check which doesn't always do the trick! So sorry in advance!

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Hope you all enjoy it!

* * *

George Knightley was oddly to excited as he packed for his spring term break. He was Seventeen(newly but that made no difference) years old he shouldn't be this excited over a week home. He tied his bag hurriedly and threw it over his back.

"You're off in a hurry!" William said laughing at his bunk mate. "You think it was your own sibling, not a neighbours daughter."

"Oh sod off William, their family friends and I wish to see my family as well!" George throwing a pillow at his friend. "I'll see you at the new term!" he heard William laughing at him as he raced out the door.

George saddled his horse quickly getting ready for the day journey back to Donwell. A ride he has been riding since the start Oxford, and grew fond of it over his time spent going back and forth. He never understood why some boys preferred carriages and coaches, surrey's or barouches. He rather simply ride in the open air rain or sleet it didn't matter. He had a canteen full of water, and bread and cheese that he picked up from the mess the night before. With a good lecture from the cook to be safe and be good.

He made good time, he wasn't to worried. Though his excitement made him want to urge. He wandered what the baby Woodhouse would look like. What was her name? His mother never written it. John his younger brother often went over to see the eldest Isabella who was only 7 while his brother 10 the nearest playmate for the two. As Mr. Woodhouse didn't trust Isabella to play with children from the village most times for who knows what she may catch and so on. So John made it his delight to keep the young child occupied. Shaking his through his thoughts he stopped to give his horse some water and a break as he ate his lunch and drank thirstily.

"Pa! Mother!, I see him!" Young John Knightley yelled from the window.

Mr. Knightley looked up from the book he was reading, then looked at his wife. "Well my dear it seems to be our eldest has arrived."

"So it seems." Mrs. Knightley said with a slight merry smile at the antics of their youngest who was already running down the halls to meet his older brother. "Shall we go down as well George? And make sure you namesake isn't starved and hasn't gotten into much trouble at university?"

George Knightley. Sr, laughed. "I believe he is just doing fine Beloved."

George grinned as he saw his family. His father a great man of business as well as fairness. Was titled a wonder landlord and employer who treated everyone equally and fairly. At forty-something he was still robust and tall with slightly graying hair and sparkling brown eyes. At his side was his petite mother who look fragile as ever. Her Blonde hair was curly over and swept up in a fashion he didn't want to know how long it took. She had sparkling blue eyes and lovely smile, she was the best mother a boy could ask for as he grew up.

"You should see her George! I never saw a child so tiny! Mama says babies are always small and she has the little tiny curls already and Mrs. Woodhouse let me hold her!" John told his brother rambling on.

"John! Give you brother some breathing room, and go wash up for dinner." Mrs. Knightly chided her younger son softly though laughed as he raced up the stairs.

"Seems not even a two months old and seems the baby Woodhouse already has a suitor." George laughed.

* * *

He learned the next afternoon the child was called Emma. In honour of a close family friend.

"What are you studying away at the school of yours." Mr. Woodhouse said from his spot by the fire.

"Religion, politics and business. Social Science's sir." George told him as Mrs. Woodhouse gave him a cup of tea.

"Little Emma should awake soon enough," Mrs. Woodhouse told him. "So I'm afraid you'll have to bear without company. The children seem to be running around somewhere."

George smiled it felt odd to be considered an adult now. But then again of ten and seven and in university it was understandable to be considered an adult even a gentleman now.

It was odd the first time he felt Baby Emma in his arms. Covered in her white and pink blanket and white lace cap and gown. She starred up at him with big baby blue eyes he hoped that would stay blue over time.

"I do believe George that young Emma is taken for you." Mrs. Woodhouse told him as she sat near him looking over her daughter.

"She doesn't even know me." George said after a moment.

"Well she will soon enough once your done with school and come back to take over Donwell." Mr. Woodhouse told him. "She does seem content though." Mr. Woodhouse said as Emma tried to grab George's watch on his coat.

"No, no little one no chewing."George said chuckling as he tried to get it out of her reach.

"She does enjoy shiny things." Mr. Woodhouse told him. "I myself learned to keep watch and other hazards away from her. Who really knew what a child would go after. I'm ready in my right mind to lock up everything harmful."

George laughed. "You have an empty house then sir."

"I suppose but can never be to safe, with a child about." Mr. Woodhouse told him as he fretted about. "You'll find that out soon enough."

George looked up at the elder gentleman. He never once thought of marriage, he always figured at one point in his life he would be. But he never thought of how or when he would. "I think that is a while to come." he told Mr. Woodhouse truthfully.

"We had the Weston's over early this week, had there charming boy Frank with them. He will have loads of ladies after him one day, I dare say even Little Emma was taken with him, played peek a boo for almost half past to an hour." Mr. Woodhouse said rambling on.

George looked down at the child in his arms. He felt an odd surge of protection was it? When he thought of men someday trying to court this child who would hopefully turn into an accomplished Lady.

* * *

It was over the next fortnight it seemed to George he constantly over at Hartfield with his arms full with his precious Emma. One night before his departure they managed to persuade the Woodhouses to come to Donwell for dinner, baby Emma and all. With a promised fire and accommodations should the weather turn for the worst.

"My dear Emma you won't recognize me the next time you shall see me, but I will you. "George told her softly to the sleeping infant "I hope you grow up into a fine young lady with impeccable manners and lovely skills at piano forte, and of course reading. Maybe someday I'll teach you some languages."

"George, I believe the Woodhouses need their daughter back." Mrs. Knightley told her son with a small laugh.

"Alright." George told her and smiled."Well my Dear Emma this is fare well." He told her with a slight kiss on the infant's forehead before passing her to her mother. And watched them leave before going to his own room.

"My Dear Emily." Mr. Knightley said looking at his wife. "I do believe, little Miss. Woodhouse has our son wrapped around her tiny fingers." He said as he escorted her up to her room.

* * *

Well I hoped you all like that little piece. I don't know where it came from. But that my take on how Mr. Knightley met his Emma.

I called him George since it was easier to differentiate characters.

I made Mr. Knightley Mother still alive and well. Mrs. Knightley, also with the given name Emily. I know I'm evil. It went with this old saying Men picked there wives after the mother. Not always true, but it seems to fit for some reason. So made Mrs. Knightley, blonde, blue eyed and an Emily in the notion that The Woodhouses, and Knightley were good friends, and named there daughter Emma after her for some reason I do not know lol. So tell me what you think!

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	2. How Mr Knightley Recieved his Name

Alright, I meant to only write one new chapter, but after long deliberations of names and confusion. My wonderful beta who put up with somehow for all my craziness. Came up with the idea of an added scene for what will be chapter three to avoid name confusion. Because having two Mr. Knightley's who are called the same thing is confusing. So I came up with this, of why Emma calls Mr. Knightley, Mr. Knightley when my wonderful beta pointed out if his father was around, he would have been Master Knightley or Mr. George Knightley. Which we both agreed does not have the same affect.

So Thanks you Chocolate is my drug for you wonderful help and inspiration.

So without further ado.

* * *

How Mr. Knightley received his name.

* * *

It was a bright, clear sunny day when young George Knightley smiled to himself as the neighbouring family arrived Donwell Abbey for the midsummer picnic. He learned recently upon his trip home from his mother that Miss Emma Woodhouse had grown into a talkative and often opinionated child, who often shocked her own family and not just the neighbours. It had been over a year since George had last seen the child, missing last year's Christmas as he was visiting the Orient to the regret of his family. It had been a wonderful trip and he had gifts for all, but he was glad to be home.

Mr. George Knightley looked at his son out of the corner of his eye as they waited for the carriage to pull up. Then he looked at John who was already on the bottom steps waiting for Miss Woodhouse; the boy had no decorum, he thought to himself, but he could not help smiling all the same. And no sooner had the carriage stopped than Isabella seemed to flee the carriage before her father could even hand out her mother, and was off racing with John, despite the confines of manners and etiquette. George smiled and greeted the Woodhouses in proper fashion. They seemed delighted to be here, though George swore he heard Mr. Woodhouse grumble something about the heat and insects.

"It's good to see you well, Master George," Mrs. Woodhouse told him. "I hope you trip back went smoothly."

"It was as well as it could be, Mrs. Woodhouse," George told her and looked around for the last addition of their party. "Now we seem to be missing someone, don't we?"

"I'm not missing – I am here!" Emma exclaimed as she bounced out of the carriage. "Who are you?"

"Emma!" Mr. Woodhouse chided his daughter, who in return went red and played with the sash on her dress.

"It's alright, it has been a while – I doubt she would have remembered me," George told the elder gentleman. "Though Mother was right; she is very straightforward. I am Mr. George Knightley, Miss Emma," he told the child with a flourish. "And I haven't seen you since you were only just under two years of age – why, now you must be at least three!"

Emma giggled and nodded her head, bouncing her golden curls. "I am three and a half," she announced proudly, and he nodded solemnly.

As they made their way to the picnic area that the servants had prepared earlier. Isabella and John were running about playing tag, and the adults were conversing with each other. George had no companion other than Emma.

"Mr. Knightley?" Emma spoke up as George was watching the sky, and didn't seem to realize that that the child was speaking to him. "Mr. Knightley!"

"What is it, dear child?" George heard his father ask.

"No! I want him to answer!" Emma cried, stomping her foot and George looked over at her as he sat up and saw her pointing at him.

"Emma, darling." Mrs. Woodhouse stopped her conversation with Mrs. Knightley to deliver a gentle rebuke to her daughter. "Polite words please."

"Sorry, Mama," Emma said, looking down with what George thought to be a tear.

"Now, Emma," George said gently, "there is no need to cry. I am simply not used to being called Mr. Knightley, for that is my father's name. If you wish to get _my_ attention, you may address me as Mr. George, or even George if you wish, my dear little friend," George explained to her.

"Mr. George?" Emma said, testing it out for a moment; but then she wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "No, I will call you Mr. Knightley."

"Will you, Miss Emma?" George asked, with a chuckle. "Do you not like my name, George?"

Emma shrugged her tiny shoulders. "I wish to call you Mr. Knightley though," she said as she looked up at him, adding a pout for extra effect.

"Very well, if you insist," George smiled, and then he rose. "Do you want to go look for butterflies?"

"I do!" Emma said as she let herself be picked up by him. "Do you know lots about butterflies, Mr. Knightley?" she asked him as they walked away, and she waved at her parents who sat smiling as the two of them left on their adventure.


	3. Angels and Sorrow

As a positive response of my first Emma, I decided to grace you with this. It's not as cute and fluffy, kinda sad and melancholy. I hope you enjoy as much as the first.

It came from a short little clip from my mind of a little Emma tugging on Knightley's coat asking if her mother was coming back. I should mention most of this is based from what I learned on the mini-series... and the little I have read of Emma so far, and the Emma calendar of events that I found to be very useful, though I wish I knew Emma's birthday! I have set hers to be late winter, possibly late February maybe March. Making George's break in May. I originally was going to make her born in the summer, since she is a lively girl. And my birthday is in summer lol. I also tried to find a reasonable reason for Mrs. Woodhouse's death, and I concluded it could only be either she caught a fever, consumption aka tuberculosis, or possibly childbirth or a miscarriage gone bad. Or maybe freak carriage accident though Mr. Woodhouse seems to like carriages so I ruled that out.

Anyway thanks for reading!

And thanks to my amazing Beta Chocolate is my drug who probably need some meds for the headache after she corrected this and gave her input. And the long deliberation of what to do with the names lol and among other things. I thank you dearly and maybe after long enough you'll be able to do what teachers often tried to teach me and have me learn proper English! I am gonna try and log all the tips and facts away for future references. I shall not write twelve as 12...lol

Till next week!

P.S if you see a few random sentences that seem out-of-place of badly edited, those are mine that I added after the finish edit.

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* * *

Angels and Sorrow

* * *

George Knightley frowned as he sat at his desk after reading the news that his father Mr. Knightley had sent him of poor Mr. Woodhouse, Isabella, and most of all poor little Emma who barely five with her birthday few months away. It seemed Mrs. Woodhouse had been in a condition that did not fare as well as her two previous ones and had taken her life this time to the grief of her husband who had confided in General Knightley with hopes of a son. It was a time of much sorrow for the tenants of Hartfield, and the surrounding community of Highbury; even he himself felt a pang of sadness for Mrs. Woodhouse was a great lady who was a great friend of his mother's. But most of all he felt for little Emma, poor dear motherless little Emma. He closed the letter, and went to go make arrangements to be relieved from his duties till after Christmas.

Soon everything was settled and decided, and the gifts safely stored away, the most precious one carefully wrapped up in in his extra shirts and clothing so it could not be broken. When he had seen it in the window he had immediately thought of his dear little friend. William a jolly fellow who was one of his old bunk mates while he was at Oxford was visiting for the time had laughed at him when he saw the doll. William often found the situation amusing once last summer when they were both at Donwell together helping his father with the orchards, he gotten to meet the 'dear Emma' or 'little Emma.' She apparently had a notion in her head that she was going to marry Mr. Knightley one day.

George chuckled as he remembered that day Emma had been walking with Isabella to visit Donwell and to see John. She had marched right up to him and told him, "Miss Winters got married last month to Mr. Summers, so now she's Mrs. Summers. I don't know why she didn't keep her own last name – they're all seasons anyway. But I decided I want to marry _you,_ Mr. Knightley; Knightley is a _much_ better name then Woodhouse, so will you marry me?"

William at that point had been laughing his head off before George looked at his friend pointedly, and he found himself having to explain to the child that he was much too old for her and she was much too young to be marrying and that her last name was just fine. Emma Woodhouse – it suited her and she should be proud of it. Emma had in the end shrugged her tiny shoulders and started to tell him of the cat she had found in the barn the other day. Nothing seemed to bother dear Emma for long.

It was a dim evening as he arrived in Highbury, and after making the choice to go by Hartfield, he saw his parents' horse under the shelter. It was too late for a social call, so they must have been there since the morning. He stabled his horse and quickly made his way up to the house. The housekeeper was surprised to see a visitor at such an hour, but when she recognized him, she let him in solemnly. The death of the mistress of the house was a terrible loss, and young Isabella was only twelve and still far too young to run a house by herself and with the youngest still not much more than a babe it was a difficult loss for everyone.

"George!" his mother exclaimed as the maid announced him. "We just wrote to you two days ago; you did not have to come so quick!"

"It's alright, mother, I wished to good evening father," George told his parents' as he walked into the sitting room. "How are you, Mr. Woodhouse?"

"As well as can be expected, though I fear my sister shall try and take my girls away from me, saying that they need a woman's hand. It is too dreadful to think about. I know Mrs. Woodhouse would never have wanted the girls to leave this place. And I don't think I could bear having them away; it would be too much – first my dear wife, and now my children too. Do people have no feeling, no conscience?" Mr. Woodhouse rambled.

George looked on, shocked, as he seated himself in a chair near the fire to warm up slightly from the chilly ride. Someone take his little Emma? It did not bear thinking about.

"What about a governess?" George told him after a moment. "Then the girls would have a female guide and woman to go to."

"Those things take time, George, you need to advertise or look for advertisements, interview, hear from references," Emily Knightley told her son gently. "It's a large task to find a good governess."

George nodded his head as he learned back in his chair and accepted the cup of tea he was handed, letting the warmth go through him.

He turned as he heard a small voice that belonged to a tiny girl in a billowy white night gown with ribbon and lace all over it. "Papa?"

"Emma, my dear, what are you doing out of bed, when you could catch a chill?" Mr. Woodhouse asked his daughter anxiously, but heedless of his worries the child ran to her father and climbed up on his lap.

"I didn't get my goodnight kiss from Mama, nor did I give her one," Emma told him with a pout.

George looked at his mother, whose look explained it all. Little Emma had no notion of what had happened just yet; the little white figure didn't know that she would never get to kiss her mother goodnight again or vice versa.

"Your mother is..." Mr. Woodhouse began, but then he paused for a moment. "Unwell," he said finally. "But, dear child, where are your slippers and your robe? You'll catch a cold scampering around barefooted and disrobed."

Emma looked down. "I forgot Papa, I'm sorry," she said in a small voice.

Mr. Woodhouse nodded and told her it was alright this once, but not to forget too often.

"Now off to bed with you." Mr. Woodhouse told his daughter gently. "Say goodnight to Mr. and Mrs. Knightley mind you." he told her. "and I do believe there is another you may wish to bid goodnight." Mr. Woodhouse told her with amusement from her confused face knowing his daughter's attachment to younger Mr. Knightley.

"Why don't I take Emma back up to her room and get her nice and warm once more?" George spoke up and Emma's confused little face lit up when she heard his voice.

"Mr. Knightley! When did you get here? Oh, I did get my Christmas wish!" George grinned at her surprise and stood up and moved the few steps towards her. Wondering how she did not see him when she first made her appearance.

"Come on, Munchkin, let's get you off to bed," George told her as he picked her up and the little body snuggled into him. She smelled like flowers and talc powder.

"Mr. Knightley?' Emma said in her small voice as they climbed the stairs.

"Yes, Emma?"

"Did something happen? Because everyone keeps looking at me strangely and I know I didn't do anything wrong."

"You'll find out soon enough, Emma." George told her, sighing as he opened the door to the nursery and walked to the rumpled bed and deposited Emma back into it.

"That's what everyone says," Emma told him pouting. Then she brightened "Will you read me a story?"

"Will you promise to go to sleep?" he asked her, smiling as she nodded her blonde curly head.

George recited what he remembered from the few fairy tales he knew. After some time he gazed upon the child who had fallen asleep within minutes. He felt himself smile softly and let himself brush a tiny curl away from her face.

* * *

He stood next to her when she saw her mother taken away after the wake; the other adults had thought it best that she didn't go to the burial and he was satisfied to stay with her. Barely five was no age to see your mother or anyone being buried. He felt a small tug at the back of his coat he looked down at her.

"Mama is not coming home, is she?" she asked him in a small voice, her large hazel eyes dark with sorrow.

It tore at his heart to see her thus. Sighing, he knelt down to be almost at a level with the golden-haired child. "Your Mama isn't coming back, Emma, at least in body," he said gently. "But you know of angels, do you not?" He saw the golden curls bounce with her nod. "Well, your Mama is going to be an angel now, so even though you can't see her, she'll always be here and most of all she'll always be in here." He told her as he tapped his chest where his heart was. He saw her look at him in some confusion so he picked her up and took her tiny hand in his and placed it on her own heart. "Feel that beat; she can never truly leave you because she's already in you, so whenever you are feeling sad and want her, just remember that she'll always be in your heart."

Emma nodded and cuddled into his neck. "Mr. Knightley?"

"Yes, dear Emma?"

"Promise never to leave me like Mama did?" Emma asked him as her fingers clutched on to his collar. "I don't think I could bear to lose you too."

"I promise," George said softly, and he silently hoped it was a promise he could always keep.


	4. Mr Knightley is Home!

A Forth installment of my Emma drabbles.

Sorry if is so late, I've been quite busy with life and my own Mr. Knightley hehe(he is not as old though).

I would like to thank my wonderful beta Chocolate is my drug, for helping me and correcting my writing so it will be presentable for all and I am learning! Slowly but I am trying to retain what you teach me.

And without further ado!

* * *

Mr. Knightley is Home!

* * *

"Mr. Knightley is coming home, Mr. Knightley is coming home!" Seven-and-half-year-old Emma sang out loud as she skipped through the hallways of Hartfield twirling hers sister's best hair ribbons that she had pasted to a stick around in the air. Her blonde curls bounced with every step she took; her pretty pink gown floated around her. Miss Taylor had let her pick out her own clothing today, and of course Emma had wanted to wear her Sunday best.

"Emma!" Miss Taylor heard the shriek from the school room. "Give me back my ribbons – oh! You're going to ruin them." Miss Taylor sighed and followed the noise.

"Mr. Knightley is coming home!" Emma repeated ignoring her sister and continued to chant away.

"Miss Taylor, tell her to give me back my ribbons! Look what she's gone and done – she's going to ruin them and they were a Christmas present from John," Isabella cried.

"_Mr. _John, Isabella – you are far to old to be going around calling him by his given name. You're going on fourteen; in a few years you'll be out in society you must learn proper etiquette." Miss Taylor told the older girl. "Now Emma, give your sister back her ribbons, or I'll take away your pin money till you can buy her a new pair; and I told you once already, Master George coming home is no joyful occasion," Miss Taylor sighed as Emma bowed her head and silently gave her sister the ribbons.

"What do you say, Emma?" Miss Taylor prompted her young charge.

"I'm sorry, Isabella – I hope you can forgive me," Emma said to her sister with big doe eyes.

"Very well; Isabella?"

"I accept your apology," Isabella told her younger sister grudgingly, still annoyed about her ribbons being used as streamers.

"Well now, Isabella why don't you go put your ribbons away and practice your piano. Emma..." Miss Taylor turned to where the child had been but had seemed to run off chanting once more that her Mr. Knightley was coming home.

* * *

It was daunting; he felt too young, but he was a man of three and twenty and men younger than he became masters of their houses. George looked around; it felt empty knowing his father was no longer with him, or his mother who passed on a few months prior. Both had fallen ill; his mother had succumbed to the disease and his father had died of a broken heart a mere few months later, wanting to be with his wife. The funeral was to be the next morning and he ridden in late last night after receiving an express from a young boy who worked somewhere on the grounds. He was still in riding clothing, unshaven, dark rings under his eyes from the lack of sleep. Could he really do this? What if he destroyed everything his father had worked for?

George groaned and sat down in his chair downing the glass of brandy. He heard the door open but didn't turn his head.

"George?" He heard his brother John's voice.

"What is it, John?" George finally spoke up after a moment, his voice showing how he felt: overwhelmed, scared, and heartbroken.

"Tea is ready if you're hungry," John told his brother. "It will be alright, you know – you'll catch on quick and after I'm finished with college, I'll be around more."

"Thank you, John but I think I shall take a ride instead," George told him. "I feel like some exercise would do me good."

John nodded and understood his brother had to absorb all this in his own way.

George rode, trying to clear his mind and he reached Hartfield, barely realizing that he had come this far. He slowed his horse as he started to pass the garden walls, when he heard the familiar voice chanting over and over again..._Mr. Knightley is coming home, Mr. Knightley is coming home..._ He was truly Mr. Knightley now; now it wouldn't be strange for her to call him that anymore. He dismounted from his horse and tethered it to a tree.

He looked over the hedge and saw his golden-haired friend balancing on the fountain edge while twirling around it still chanting away. He realized as he leaned against the gate that everything would be fine. It will be hard in the beginning but over time he would learn, and he had someone already giving him the courage to do so.

Emma danced around the fountain, forgetting her father's warnings of falling in and injuring herself. She was much too happy that her dear friend was coming home to think about rules and restrictions. She knew they would come looking for her and scold her but for the time being she was safe from watchful eyes. As she turned quickly something caught her eye and she stopped in mid-turn, almost losing her balance as she hopped down from the ledge.

"Mr. Knightley!" she squealed, running into his legs. "You're home!"

"Indeed, Miss Emma," George said with a small, sad smile. "Home to stay for a very long while."

Emma nodded her head solemnly. "Is it because of your papa?" George nodded his head. "You'll be alright; you're all grown up, and you have me!"

"Do I?" George chuckled for the first time in days while Emma nodded her head vigorously.

"I can make you tea! Miss Taylor taught me, and I can sew and I'm learning the pianoforte – Isabella is so much better than I am, but Miss Taylor says I'll learn in time." Emma told him of all her accomplishments, rambling on... "And I can write now, and I'm quite good at reading!"

"Why, you are becoming an accomplished young lady, aren't you!" George exclaimed at her excitement.

"See, I can keep you company! You won't have to miss your papa because you'll have me! I promise never to leave you," Emma said, and hugged his legs and looked up at him with a dazzling smile.

George smiled and wondered if she still thought of her own dear mother who passed away two years before. If she did, she didn't mention it.

"And you once told me, that when people die they turn into angels, so that means your papa is now an angel, and he'll never truly leave you," Emma told him.

"I did, didn't I?"George smiled at her. "Well, I believe you are right, I also believe you have someone looking for you," he said, pointing over to the governess who was looking for her charge.

"Mr. Knightley, we didn't expect you," Miss Taylor said when she saw him.

"I rode over few moments ago to clear my mind," George told her.

"Would you like some tea?"

"That would be nice," George said, nodding.

"Oh Miss Taylor, can I pour it?" Emma chimed in. "I've gotten so good!"

"Of course, Emma," Miss Taylor told her with a smiled and whispered to Mr. Knightley. "Be aware she over indulges in the sugar."

George nodded and looked fondly at Emma, who had resumed her chant as she wound her way around them. "Mr. Knightley is home!"

* * *

There I hope you all enjoyed that! Please review I do love reviews, or general just tell me what you think good or bad.

I have another one coming soon I shall hope which is still in my mind and shall be fun to write.

SCB


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